


Love Gone Left

by FlounderTech



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Combiglitter, Death, Drink With Me, Love, M/M, Revolution, Songfic, War, barricade - Freeform, gone, left - Freeform, love gone left, the Final Battle, the night before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlounderTech/pseuds/FlounderTech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last night on the barricades, questions are asked and answers are not necessarily found in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Gone Left

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Love gone Left - Bitter Ruin  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIo76kXPDiw
> 
> _Oh we never find an answer_   
> _Oh we’ll ask ourselves to death_   
> _Oh we come out crackers ‘cause somebody_   
> _Who we love has gone left_

Combeferre closed his eyes, stretching out a little and sighed. They really didn't have long. Not anymore. Moving the butt of a cigarette into his lips, he struck a match and inhaled, breathing out the smoke, watching it swirl in the air. It was moments like these that he could understand Jehan's love of various herbs. Tobacco calmed him more than he really realized. The day had been rough. They'd lost good people, but it was highly unlikely that they were to be attacked now. They had people out on watch, Marius was mourning and Enjolras... Well. He was being Enjolras. Combeferre's hand fell to the head that rested on his chest and carefully held the smoke between his fingers and away from it. Just brushing his fingers through the others hair, trying to soothe him. And yet his friend ended up sighing and lifting, shaking his head a little. 

"What about the battle?"

"What about it?"

"What do you think'll happen?" Combeferres brow furrowed a little as he looked Courfeyrac over briefly, drawing more from the cigarette, letting out a shaky breath. 

"I don't  really know."

"At best?"

"At best we all get out alive. At worst..." He shook his head a little, looking down to the man.

"Combeferre?" Courfeyracs gaze lifted back up to the taller man of whom he was using as a pillow. "Don't think about it. I'm sorry I asked." It was in moments like this that he really wished that Enjolras had asked for them not to get into relationships with anyone this close to the battle. Not their own, not anyone. Which was a simple shame, because in moments like this, Courfeyrac would have kissed the other man to stop any extra pain. If he was totally honest, it made very little sense to him. The way he felt about the other man was unlike that which he felt about any other. And he would fight for the man to the end. He was pretty sure, after talking to Grantaire, that he would do exactly the same for Enjolras. And Bossuet would for Joly. It was clear that they would do so for the others til the end anyway, however there was a fierceness to how they would fight if they were permitted to love one another as he did Combeferre.

"Its okay." Tilting his head back, he exhaled another long puff of smoke, eyes closing briefly. "We simply shouldn't ask any more questions. Its not something we'll find answers to until it comes to the battle itself."

Courfeyrac nodded a little. It was better to leave it instead of asking the question to death. He started to recall the first time that the pair had actually held a conversation, sat around waiting for the meeting to start. The first meeting. They'd met a number of times before and could, technically, consider each other a friend. However, that first conversation was sweet. The first time that the other mans voice had been directed to him. And it started with a simple question.

_"Do you know what time Enjolras is meant to be getting here?"_

_"Not really. He said about now." Courfeyrac shot a glance at the clock, sighing softly. "But its Enjolras, and we seem to be the only ones around."_

_"I suppose you are right."_

And the conversation went on until the leader arrived, Grantaire the last to join as always, Feuilly, Bahorel and Joly having joined the two not long after the conversation happened between the two of them. It had started with a handshake. Ended with the odd drink with one another and relaxing in one another’s company. It was so different to what he was used to. What, he could argue, made the whole thing so much sweeter was the fact that nothing had actually really occurred between the two of them.

"Combeferre?" The other man blinked a little, simply looking down to him once more.

"Yes?"

"Can I..." He paused a little, moving to prop himself up on the barricade, just meeting Combeferres gaze as it lifted to him. "Can I kiss you?"

The other man was quite clearly caught offguard by this question. For one, he never thought that he would ever be asked to be kissed, least of all by Courfeyrac. Though, he supposed that they had been darting around each other for a while now, if it was to be thought upon. Before logic could really distract him from instinct, his fingers rested against the mostly clean-shaven chin of the other man, sitting up a little to bring their lips closer, hovering for a moment before stealing the other mans lips for his own.

He couldn't have been more glad for it.

 

The evening was broken by the sudden drawing together of people, Enjolras bringing the group together one last time. Marius was sent away, or at least, to a corner of the barricade to rest, and the men shared one last drink around.

"Let us drink, to the days gone by." Feuilly kicked the group off, taking a small swig of the bottle, waiting for the next to offer up a toast.

"To pretty girls who went to our heads."

"And those who went to our beds." A small round of laughter passed through the group as both Jehan and Joly rose, bottles rising briefly before taking a swig, the men echoing to drink to them, and to the group as well. Combeferre took a long drink, closing his eyes and setting back briefly as Grantaire started up. Well, he wasn't expecting anything else from the cynic of the group. Talk of death and fear. Talk of their lives being one long lie. A joke, almost. Sometimes he felt as though Grantaire was the wisest of the group, before the recognition of the amount that the man drank.

The evening went on, each and every one of the men offering up a toast to drink to. Courfeyrac was sent to the watch and various other men went to deal with weaponry. As for Combeferre, he retired for the night, to be woken the next day by the sounds of battle about to start.

Grunting, he pushed himself up, moving to grab his pistols, stumbling out briefly before regaining his senses and sorting himself out. Yes, he could do this. Men, men everywhere. Perhaps not. Perhaps Grantaire was indeed right. But they would have to fight their way out of this. No matter.

Shots flew from one side to another. People were injured. Men of both sides. And against his better judgement, Combeferre moved to help a wounded soldier from the other side.

He didn't even register what had happened.

He heard the cry from Courfeyrac, watched the man in front of him die, before noticing the pain that went from his chest. It all happened so quickly. And in a final plea, his eyes darted upwards, sending a silent prayer to be greeted well with those friends that he had lost already. To be taken in with care, love, and joy.

 

It saddened him when Courfeyrac joined his spirit on the barricades of the heavens. But there was nothing that could be done anymore. They had expired. And now eternity was theirs.

 


End file.
